I'm just something dark and broken; I'm glass shards that embed into themselves. For even the laughter around me, silent and sharpened, are nothing compared to the damage I can inflict onto myself. Dark. Complete - Sept. 7, 2012; UPDATED: Oct. 12, 2013

AN: In honor of the upcoming tale, The Hunger Games, a series that has, literally, changed my perception. Thank you Suzanne Collins! I can't wait to see your vision come to life.

Because I remember, I despair. Because I remember, I have the duty to reject despair. - Elie Wiesel

The Caged Bird Sings

Cuckoo

I'm laying on my back, looking up into the sky, the fake blue that hides the true expanse. I want so badly to fly away into something familiar but I can't. And then the shadow is blocking my view, and I want to see even the lie that I'm trapped in—it's better than seeing his face: a murderer of children, of Peeta.

But in the end, I know I'm no better…

I'm looking at nothing now, I've closed my eyes and when I open them he's looming so close to me, I smell the sweat and blood. The sky looking into mine is different—it's colder than life, and I meet his gaze calmly, despite the vapidity of my heart.

I don't trust myself to goad him on. My voice may crack. I hate him; hate him so much I can taste it.

He's rising now, glowering over me, a spear poised above my chest.

He turns around in the open space, leaving my confused and addresses all of Panem, "I will be your victor!"

There are shouts of assent, I hear them pounding into my aching bones and weary mind. He's gloating…! Fine, let him, if it'll mean I'll have a few moments of peace before joining my father. I wonder if I'll finally hear him sing…

"Victors are allowed many things," he continues, hoarse from no water, drunk on power, "But I am making a request. My district will have food. I want the Girl on Fire."

My body is ignited by rage as my blood chills, immobile and lost.

"Cato, this is not usually allowed." rings the voice of President Snow.